At What Price, Peace?
by Valairy Scot
Summary: On a mission to mediate a peace treaty, our two Jedi find things going too well. Is it a set up, or is it a peace to be sealed by something neither Jedi could have imagined? What is the price of peace, and is the price too high?
1. Chapter 1

"What the Force do I do?" Qui-Gon cried out, silently. He usually had answers, or would find them. But this was unprecedented, tragic, and unanswerable. His heart ached and he didn't know if it would ever heal. He wasn't sure he even wanted it to.

It had started, a routine call before the Council, a routine mission. He could sense Obi-Wan's disquiet during their briefing, the young man stood straight and silent, as a Padawan should. Qui-Gon had spared a glance sideways at him, ready to raise an eyebrow to settle the young man down, but his emotion was internal, not displayed before the Council. Obi-Wan turned his eyes to his master and blinked, as if surprised that his master was aware of what he felt.

Daring to relax, for the minute, Qui-Gon let Obi-Wan drop out of his awareness. They would speak later. Obi-Wan seemed to softly shut a door, as if on a sleeping being, as their bond quieted and the apprentice shut himself away and switched into an awareness of the Living Force. Now Qui-Gon _was_ troubled; his apprentice was not normally attuned to the Living Force – his disquiet, then, was related to his Force perceptions, the Unifying Force.

After they were dismissed and the Council doors closed behind them, Qui-Gon stopped and faced the young Jedi. "What is troubling you?"

"I…am not sure…" he answered upon reflection, raising eyes to his master's. Seeing there the patience, almost a threat, that there they would remain until Obi-Wan spoke freely, he sighed. A Padawan was not allowed to lie, obfuscate, or speak less than the truth at any time. While his unwillingness to speak did not meet any of those criteria, it did skirt too close for comfort.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Master," he admitted. He waited for Qui-Gon's smile, the admonishment to live in the present and stop worrying about the future. It was a conversation they had frequently enough that they merely needed to exchange looks without the need to actually exchange words. But Qui-Gon merely nodded and he laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"It is more than your usual worrying, Obi-Wan. I know you too well. It is different this time. What do you sense?

"A great…silence, like everything went – blank," he tried to explain, shaking his head. "I don't understand it, Master, but it is there, and there is sorrow."

"Whose sorrow?"

"I – I don't know." That was the truth, he really didn't know. But somehow, he suspected, it was Qui-Gon's.

Deep blue eyes gazed deeply into blue-gray eyes, and accepted his words. "There is often sorrow during and after a mission. This is a lesson you should have learned by now, my young apprentice. We can hope to settle disputes peacefully, guard the weak against those who would prey on them, but we can never repair the wounds of those we help. We cannot ban pain with the Force; we can only try to prevent its happening."

"One can only help to shape a brighter future and bring healing to the wounds of the past," Obi-Wan recited gently. It wasn't really the proper saying, but he liked it better this way. Qui-Gon must have approved, for his lips curved in a smile and he patted his shoulder. "Well said, my young one. Well said."

They left hours later.

* * *

"Will he wake?" Qui-Gon whispered, hands clutching at the blankets covering the still figure, eyes never leaving the face below his. Lashes were closed over blue-gray eyes, hiding the light behind them. The serious look that so often exploded into joyous grins was gone, the face smooth in rest. "Does he feel pain?"

"We don't know, and we don't think so," the healer said gently, standing beside the tall Jedi Master. He now knew common wisdom was wrong, the Jedi did feel emotion. The proof was beside him in the trembling hand, the catch in the voice, and the unshed tears in the eyes.

"If he…when he…wakes, will he?" the Jedi couldn't finish forming the words.

"We can't tell the damage to the higher brain functions while he is in a coma," the healer said carefully. "We might not know for days, weeks, or even years."

"Years?" the Jedi echoed, and his fingers tightened. He had heard of injured humans lingering decades, a shell of who they had been, no brain function and no awareness. Families arguing about continuing life or if meaningful life even existed – if life even needed meaning to be continued.

Would this be a dialogue the Jedi Council would have amongst itself? Would Qui-Gon even have a voice, and if so, should it be his, or Obi-Wan's? His eyes dropped back to that beloved face.

_Wake up, little one; spare me from an empty future without you in it. I shouldn't love you, Jedi are supposed to remain free from attachments, but how a master cannot love his Padawan, when the master is I and the Padawan is you – come back_.

But there was nothing. Only hope. And fear.

"Both sides seem willing enough to accept a mediated settlement, my young Padawan," Qui-Gon remarked as they left the meeting room the first day.

Beside him, Obi-Wan just nodded dubiously. He cautiously expressed his doubts with a slight cough. "They do…seem…willing enough," he conceded. "Too eager. They don't seem to need mediation. One side proposes something and the other side eagerly accepts, then offers a proposal and it is promptly accepted in return. It's too easy."

Now it was Qui-Gon's turn to pause and quirk an eyebrow in thought. It was definitely unusual behavior. It merited careful consideration. Obi-Wan seemed on his game this mission; he was fast becoming a man and no longer the young boy that Qui-Gon had initially been so reluctant to accept as his Padawan.

"You seem quite perceptive and attuned, so continue analyzing the situation," Qui-Gon encouraged him. "If the mediation is unnecessary, why are we here?"

"It could be cultural," Obi-Wan admitted, "but nothing in the briefing suggests that the presence of outsiders would cause this level of mutual cooperation. It could be a trap for us – either us personally, or for whomever the Order sent, but I am not aware of any reason anyone on this planet would have to trap Jedi."

"A fair analysis, Padawan," Qui-Gon agreed. "Let's try another angle. Were they this agreeable all along, or did their attitudes change at one point, and if so, when?"

"Both sides were squabbling over who first asked the Jedi to intervene." Obi-Wan grinned as he remembered the Hologram message the Council had played for them. "Master Yoda had this look on his face that I well remember from when I was a youngling caught in one too many idiocies for his liking." From the reminiscent smile on his master's face, Qui-Gon remembered the look from his own younger days. They exchanged smiles.

"Master Windu looked like he wanted to swallow his tongue," Qui-Gon added with a wicked chuckle. He looked at Obi-Wan, and they both added with huge grins, "or shake a finger in their faces."

"Ah, Obi-Wan, I never knew you were such a trouble maker as I was. Well, we agree they were arguing like younglings when they contacted us."

"Master, they went very quiet when we introduced ourselves, and immediately tried to cover it by trying to out talk each other. So, is it fear of us, respect, or something else?"

They both reached for their comlinks at the same time; Obi-Wan let his hand drop to his side as Qui-Gon called the Temple and asked for a search that connected either or both of them to this planet, any of the leaders, or any connection, however remote. Until they knew more, they would be very careful and very observant.

* * *

Obi-Wan had sensed blankness, a void. Qui-Gon wasn't sure if he had sensed his own lack of awareness, or the hole in his own heart. Perhaps both. And the sorrow – he now knew whose sorrow it was, and for whom.

_Obi-Wan, you didn't have to sacrifice yourself. We could have found a way. I would have found a way, had I known ahead of time, what you knew. _

He should accept what had happened and move ahead, face the future. It was the Jedi way. But moving ahead would be leaving behind – what, he wasn't yet sure. Something that looked like Obi-Wan, but was it? He couldn't leave it behind, even if it was only a shell that resembled his Padawan. Unbidden, words of Yoda came to him: _luminous beings we are, not this crude matter. _Fine, then where was Obi-Wan's luminous being, why did the shell that housed his bright spirit lie beside him, a mockery of life?

_You were learning so much, growing so fast. I was looking forward to standing beside you, Jedi Knight Kenobi. Will I lighting your funeral pyre, my Padawan, sometime soon, instead?" _

The Force didn't supply an answer. The healer didn't want to.

"Will he live?"

He turned his head and caught the healer's eyes, begging for an honest answer. There might not be any answers he would like to hear, so he would like to know the truth.

"His vital signs are weak, but steady. It is truly impossible to say at this time."

The truth did hurt, but so would a lie. It was all because of a mistranslation, a miscommunication and a fanatic religious cult. It was because of one young man's firm belief that a better future lay ahead for those for whom he'd sacrificed himself.


	2. Sealed in Blood

The negotiations resumed at mid-morning, the two sides happily trading clauses and sub-clauses back and forth as they pounded out an agreement. The two Jedi had no need to be involved; they were relegated to being mere observers.

During mid-meal break, Obi-Wan said he wanted to stretch his legs and headed off while Qui-Gon found a quiet spot to meditate. He had been tempted to accompany his padawan, but had decided against it. Obi-Wan hadn't returned when the negotiations resumed. Qui-Gon was surprised, but his absence seemed to go unmarked and it was long evident that neither Jedi was actually needed.

In Qui-Gon's long years, he had never seen a complex negotiation so speedily and happily completed. The agreement was ready for signatures before the expected termination of the day's meeting. Both sides agreed to a brief recess, during it Qui-Gon slipped into a quiet corridor and contacted the Temple.

"Didn't Obi-Wan tell you?" the surprised voice of Jocasta Nu asked. "He contacted me just a short while ago and I passed on what we had found. All I could find was an obscure legend about during a time of trouble, a cloaked god will return bearing a staff of light to bring healing to his people. There's some confusion about the name of this god, but it's most commonly known as T'wa-Won. Phonetically, either of your names would sound similar."

"Yes, interesting, but obviously there's more to it than just that," Qui-Gon said; for some reason his heart was beating fast.

"There is," Jocasta said reluctantly. "That's what Obi-Wan said; he asked me to dig deeper and try to find out if there was more to it than just that. The legend says that the god will bring lasting peace by sealing the pact in blood. The initial translation was "a drop of blood," which is what I told Obi-Wan. You could hear him practically trying to think of a painless way to prick his finger. Or yours."

They both, almost, grinned at that. Obi-Wan's distaste for mess, which even one drop of blood would be by his standards, was nothing new to either of them. Not new, either, was either or both of them suffering from something at least a little painful on many missions – it was an unusual Jinn-Kenobi mission that didn't end with one or both of them visiting the Healers Ward for some bandaging or treatment.

Jocasta's voice grew grim. "However, I dug deeper and a more accurate translation in my view is that the god will bring lasting peace by sacrificing himself, or in a variant version, by his blood being spilled by another and his blood sealing the pact for all eternity. But it's not just a drop – Qui-Gon, it's 'the god's lifeblood.'"

"By the Force," Qui-Gon swore, and switched his comlink over to contact Obi-Wan. "Padawan, where are you? Why haven't you been in touch with me?"

"Master, I'm just coming in the door," came the calm reply. Qui-Gon could just see the slight raise of one eyebrow, the carefully studied look on his face belied by the tension behind his eyes as he picked up on Qui-Gon's apprehension. "I haven't had time to contact you, yet. Guess one of us will have to bleed some. Apparently, you know what I just found out."

"Yes, the legend – the sacrifice, everything." Qui-Gon tried to be calm, but his heart was pounding.

"Sacrifice? What sacrifice?" Now Obi-Wan sounded surprised. "A drop of the god's blood seals the deal is all; I was wondering which of us is expected to play that role."

"There will be no role-playing for either of us," Qui-Gon said sternly. "Why don't I see you, if you're coming in the front doorway?"

"I came through the side doorway," Obi-Wan said quietly, "and Qui-Gon," he gulped, "I think I know what you meant about sacrifice. I'm in the room, and, uh, I guess I get to seal the treaty they just signed - ." The comlink went silent.

* * *

Qui-Gon brushed back a strand of silky hair that had slipped over the bandage around Obi-Wan's head. He had known immediately how serious the head wound was – it wasn't the blood, which was present in copious quantities, it wasn't even the depth and position of the wound, which should have scared him out of what remained of his wits – it was the total and absolute silence in Obi-Wan's mind.

When Obi-Wan's comlink had gone silent, Qui-Gon had raced to the meeting room. It was only a few steps away, just around the corner. As he burst in the door, Obi-Wan turned towards him, his expression calm and serious, but his eyes were wide with the knowledge of what was already happening. In them was also acceptance.

_Our mission is to bring peace_.

Obi-Wan might have been able to grab his lightsaber, deflect the bolts, but Qui-Gon could almost see the thought be discarded. Obi-Wan knew one of them would die this day and he made his decision. He would save Qui-Gon, and assure peace.

"No, Qui-Gon," he whispered, and raised his hand in a Force push that dropped Qui-Gon to the ground. The Jedi master had barely time to register the strength behind it; his eyes met Obi-Wan's even as the blaster bolts pummeled him. He felt Obi-Wan's pain, heard a fading mind whisper that murmured, "_Let my blood seal peace, not yours_." Then there was nothing but a spreading pool of red on the floor, and a splash on the signed documents.

Qui-Gon was on his feet even as Obi-Wan crumpled, caught his body in his arms even as it slumped and gently lowered his padawan to the ground. He raised tear-stained eyes to find smiling faces grinning down at him. The leaders of both factions grabbed onto one of his hands and pumped it enthusiastically up and down.

"Sealed in blood; we have a lasting peace at last. The god has seen to that."

Lasting peace. But at what price?


	3. The End of Hope

Crouched on the floor, his wounded padawan cradled in his arms and smiling faces surrounding him, Qui-Gon felt only unutterably weary and terribly sad. _There is sorrow in many missions_.

"Why?" he whispered to the smiling faces, his eyes fixed on the closed eyes of his padawan.

"Why?" The faces exchanged wide-eyed looks. Wasn't it obvious? "To seal peace for all time. The young god brought us peace. Now he returns home."

What would they say, think, if they knew Obi-Wan was not yet one with the Force? Would they finish the job, or was the blood he had shed enough?

Qui-Gon found he couldn't be angry. There was no malicious intent in those faces. Instead there was pain, so much pain within him.

"I will take him home," he whispered, and slowly rose to his feet, with Obi-Wan's head limp against his shoulder. They made no move to stop him. He left the room, his steps growing faster and faster, until he fairly flew on his feet. It was not far to the medical center.

He burst through the door. Startled healers took Obi-Wan from his arms and rushed him out of sight. Qui-Gon just stood, breathing heavily, to blindly find a seat and sit with his head in his hands.

He didn't know how long he sat like that. Time had ceased to exist. He finally became aware that his comlink was beeping. He didn't want to talk to the Temple. He wasn't sure he could. Habit brought his comlink to his hand, a thumb to the switch, it to his lips.

"Yes," he heard himself answer numbly.

"Jocasta told me interrupted your conversation was," Yoda said calmly. Nothing ever flustered the master. The world could end, and Yoda would be unperturbed. "Worried I am. Wish to speak with you, see that all is okay, I do."

"Okay? No, no, I'm not okay…Obi-Wan is hurt, it's bad, it's…," he didn't know what else to say. His eyes had focused on the comlink and at the hand holding it. It was covered in blood – Obi-Wan's blood.

* * *

A tiny drop formed, swelled. It hung, trembling on one finger as if seeking forgiveness, slowly lengthening until, stretched too far, it slowly fell in an infinity of time before splashing wetly onto one sand-colored knee. First one, then another: drops of red. All Qui-Gon could do was watch: each drip a reminder of all that he had lost.

"Sorry I am, to hear this," Yoda's voice was quiet. He was silent, waiting for Qui-Gon to resume speaking.

"I can't…I don't know," Qui-Gon said tiredly. He turned off the comlink and tucked it back in his belt. There was nothing for him to do, nothing he could do. He could only stare at his hand, smeared with Obi-Wan's life and perhaps, his death.

Large hands, callused and powerful, gently clasped one limp hand between his as the Jedi Master stared at the still face on the bed beside which he sat. Lids closed over once laughing eyes and mouth quiet in repose, his padawan seemed merely asleep. It was over a month since their return to the Temple, and nothing had changed. Obi-Wan was resident in a quiet room in the Healers Ward, well tended, and well looked after, but otherwise ignored. He was a Padawan who would never become a Knight, a boy who would grow into a man, but otherwise immune to life's milestones.

Qui-Gon visited him every day, spoke of everyday life, of his solitary missions. He didn't say that the Council wanted him to sever his bond and take on another apprentice. He couldn't, not as long as Obi-Wan lived.

The Council told him, gently, that the boy he knew was dead. It was not Obi-Wan who lay so silently; it was a body without a mind. It was something that had once been Obi-Wan, and was no longer. Qui-Gon couldn't accept that.

This day, as so many times before, Qui-Gon entered silently. After his soft 'hello, Obi-Wan," – it was how he started each visit - he walked over to the small plant he had brought in some weeks ago, plucked out the dead blossoms and added some water. He stood, frowning down at the plant. All it took was water and fertilizer to keep it healthy. Would it be that it was so simple with humans.

He drew back the curtains and let in the winter sun. Its cool light slid across the bed to touch the pale face, trace the planes of his face, and reflect off his eyes. Qui-Gon stood at the window looking out, his hands clasped behind his back.

He missed the comfort of standing shoulder to shoulder with Obi-Wan on one of the Temple balconies, watching the sun set and color wash across the skies. He had introduced his padawan to this reflective meditation early in their relationship, and had been gratified at his apprentice's ready acceptance of it. He had shared no such quiet moments with his own master.

That first time, Obi-Wan had just looked, radiating such peace and happiness that Qui-Gon could only look at his face, smiling, until their eyes met in mutual understanding. They had needed no words, then or ever after. As easily as that, it had become a ritual.

It was one of the first routines they had established, it was one they had continued until Obi-Wan's injury. Now Qui-Gon couldn't bear to watch the sunset. Not alone. It held too many memories; too much pain.

The golden light in the sky reminded him of the bright light that was Obi-Wan, taken away from him. The reds screamed of shed blood, crimson splashes that sealed peace for others while stealing it from him. The darkness after all colors faded away was the emptiness that was his heart.

He always left before sunset.

With a sigh, he turned back to the bed, sat down and took the lid off a bottle of lotion, squeezing a small amount into his hand. He briskly rubbed the lotion into Obi-Wan's hand, up his arm. His skin was so dry, Qui-Gon had noticed, the IVs dripping nutrients into his blood stream weren't enough to keep his skin hydrated.

He reached across and brought Obi-Wan's other arm over his body and repeated the process, imagining that he was rubbing fertilizer into the body. He was careful to avoid the needle taped to his vein. When he finished, he lowered the arm back to Obi-Wan's side.

He reached for a pair of clippers and trimmed Obi-Wan's nails, gently smoothing any rough edges that remained. He turned the hands over, rubbing his thumbs over the soft palms. Calluses from holding his lightsaber in so many training sessions had long softened and disappeared, only small scars marred the hand, but even they had faded as the color faded from Obi-Wan's skin. Only the bleached hair still wound in his padawan's braid showed he had once spent much time in the sun.

Qui-Gon reached for some balm and lifted his hand to smear the soothing paste onto Obi-Wan's lips.

"How are you today, Obi-Wan?" he asked. Habit made him look into Obi-Wan's closed eyes. A tingle ran up his spine; the eyes were open. He licked his lips, now they were the ones dry. "Obi-Wan?"

He leaned over, laid his hands gently on both sides of Obi-Wan's face and stared hopefully into the blue-gray eyes. "Obi-Wan! Do you hear me, Obi-Wan? Please, Obi-Wan, blink if you hear me."

But there was no response, nothing to indicate Obi-Wan heard him. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing but a bottomless depth, devoid of life.

* * *

Qui-Gon continued to visit Obi-Wan, but his visits to the Temple had become less and less frequent. The Council kept pressuring him to take a new padawan; it was easier to stay away. But he was always drawn back. He needed to see Obi-Wan.

Life in the Temple went on. Qui-Gon often thought, when he was with Obi-Wan, that time stopped and left them isolated in a bubble where just the other minute Obi-Wan had grinned at some joke of his own making, and where in the next he would find something to tease Qui-Gon about. How he missed Obi-Wan's dry wit, his sparkling eyes, and his crease lines of worry. However, they were unable to go back, and unable to go forward. Time itself was frozen, here in this silent room.

Finally, even Qui-Gon had to admit that Obi-Wan was never going to recover. He needed to let go. He would still visit Obi-Wan; he owed him that. His heart demanded it of him. But he had to let him go, let go the bond that had connected them; it was long silent and there would be no pain in severing it. No pain, except an empty, aching void in his heart, where there had once been something vibrant and alive.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he whispered, holding back tears as the deed was done. He turned away, so he didn't see Obi-Wan's face. Or the single tear that slid from one eye.


	4. Acceptance

How strange it was, to feel disembodied, to feel as if one's self existed separate from a physical body. There was no sensation, no touch, and no smell. The real world had a strange clarity, but there was some barrier between _here_ and _there_.

He didn't know just when something awoke within him. Time had no meaning. He had been trapped in a void and now he still was; only now there was a strange awareness. He existed, whereas before it was as if he had not. He didn't seem to be alive, though: he seemed to exist separate from his body. He could not reach his master's wounded heart.

Obi-Wan wanted to touch Qui-Gon's hand, feel his master's strong arms holding him close and assuring him that all would be okay, or even feel the man's tears soft upon his face. A part of him could only watch as Qui-Gon carefully tended him, flexing his arms and legs to keep his joints limber, fluffing a pillow, or reweaving his braid.

And when Qui-Gon severed the quiescent bond between them, he had wanted to fade entirely away. If it was so final, why was he still here in this state? Why wouldn't the Force take him, for there was nothing left for him anymore.

And why, when the sun set, was he always alone?

* * *

Time was supposed to heal a broken heart. No one had ever quantified just how much time was required. Qui-Gon had tried to stay away for a while and give his heart time to mend, so that when he next visited his former padawan, he would not be lost in regrets.

How did one balance one's duty and one's need to move on? How could he let go, when Obi-Wan hadn't? He wondered, if there was nothing left, if it would have been better for him to have joined with the Force long ago, to be whole and healthy in the entirety of life that was the Force, rather than suspended in something that was neither life, nor oneness.

He let the Council think he was looking over the initiates with an idea of taking a new padawan. Perhaps tending another young one would help to heal the wound in his heart. Several of the youngsters impressed him, but he realized it was because each of them reminded in one way or another of Obi-Wan.

He imagined Obi-Wan looking over his shoulder and offering gentle advice.

"His insistent talking would drive you crazy," was a comment on one young boy, "though his focus is excellent and he would learn well from you."

"Despite impressive lightsaber skills, she would not laugh at your jokes or tease you," was the comment on another.

_Do none of them meet with your approval, my Padawan_?

_Only one, he who sleeps above, he who needs you to call him back_.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. Hadn't he sent enough pleas into the Force? He had done everything, said everything – wished everything possible. What more could he have done?

_Call me back, Qui-Gon. I am ready. I am listening. I am waiting. If you want me back._

It was then that Qui-Gon knew he still wasn't ready, not when he continued to imagine he could hear Obi-Wan's voice in his mind. It wouldn't be fair to any initiate he might accept, for one thing. Not one of them would ever measure up. He would be always comparing, always searching for something long gone and denied him forever.

He knew the voice he heard in his mind was not Obi-Wan. It was only his hopes speaking to him in that beloved voice. Obi-Wan would never have asked if Qui-Gon wanted him back. That question came from his own fears and doubts. Had he done the right thing? Had he any choice?

He hadn't accepted that Obi-Wan was gone

He needed to say goodbye to Obi-Wan, or acknowledge that he never would.

Maybe he needed to share one last sunset with Obi-Wan.


	5. Does Not the Sunrise Follow the Sunset?

The door to Obi-Wan's room was wide open; the bed empty when Qui-Gon arrived. His heart dropped and for a minute he had to clutch the door frame. How could he not have felt – known – had that truly been Obi-Wan speaking to him just a while ago from the other side of life? Had Obi-Wan been alone for that final journey?

Before he could quite catch his breath, a medical droid rolled up and calmly stated, "The patient was moved down the hall two doors."

Moved! He hadn't passed on. Qui-Gon breathed again, and as he hurtled down the hallway, he snapped, "His name is Obi-Wan." His padawan had lost nearly everything; now he had lost even his identity. He was "the patient."

The only difference between this room and the former one was that this room had no windows; it was smaller. They didn't think Obi-Wan had need of the other room. They had given up hope. They had deprived him of the sunset! Qui-Gon could not allow that to happen.

He detached the IV bag from its stand, slung it around his neck and easily scooped Obi-Wan from his bed. He was so light. He was almost a man, but Qui-Gon felt he was lifting the thirteen year old boy who had first captured his heart and who had now broken it.

He carried him back into the first room and carefully laid him on the bed, turned his head to the window and drew back the curtains.

"We'll watch the sunset, together," he promised. He laid a big hand, softly, on Obi-Wan's cheek, looked deep into the blank depths of his eyes. "Then, if it's … time, you can let go. Don't linger like this. Either come back, or – or, become one with the Force."

He slid next to Obi-Wan and settled him against his chest, tucked the limp head into the curve of his neck and shoulder and wrapped his arms around the slight body. He enfolded one unresisting hand within his and brought the hand to his lips for a soft kiss, laid it against his cheek. Outside, the colors deepened, exploded into a symphony of light that lit the room with a rosy glow. Hope, or was it heartbreak, made visible. "See it, Obi-Wan? Do you see it?"

A finger twitched just barely, within his hand. _It's time,_ _call me back, Master_. _Help me to come home_.

Qui-Gon almost jumped, he leaned over and looked into Obi-Wan's face. "Are you there, Padawan? Are you returning to me? Please, come back."

An eye blinked. Within its depths lay a shadow buried so deep that it could barely be seen. But a shadow could not exist without light.

_Help me home, Master, I don't have enough strength on my own_. A soft whisper of non-sound brushed his mind, seeking to reestablish a broken bond, but one that had only been severed on one end. It was nothing to reestablish it, reach out for what his mind saw as a young boy sitting tired with outstretched arms and hopeful eyes. He took the boy into his arms and hugged him close, bringing him back.

_I'm home_.

_You're home_.

Two thoughts, opposite and yet the same. Two hearts, now healing. Two halves of one whole, together.

The brilliance outside softly faded into softer hues of crimson and gold, tendrils of light lying across two faces, light painting the faces and reflecting off eyes – one pair deep blue, full of joy, and one pair blue-gray, full of hope, and both wet with tears. The sun sank out of sight and disappeared, leaving behind twilight's blue glow.

As Obi-Wan's eyes closed, in true sleep, his lips relaxed into a smile. _It was beautiful_.

At his side, Qui-Gon smiled and tightened his arms around the young man. His padawan, the son of his heart, had come back, and soon, he knew with absolute certainty, all would be well. Obi-Wan would fully recover. His heart told him that. _It is beautiful_, he echoed, only he was not looking at the glorious sight outside, but the glorious sight still cradled in his arms.

How could he have forgotten? For wasn't the sunset always followed by the sunrise, no matter how dark the night between?


End file.
